This is me

A chipped porcelain cup

in a cupboard full of those who appear perfect

With viewers admiring an odd beauty

Calling magnificent to I who

to compliments I am deaf

Here I am

An open book

with no written words

pages blank and edges burned

some ripped and extracted by familiar strangers with no interest in a treasure so rare

Here I stand

A tree alone deep in the forrest

Colors changing to falling leaves

Constantly waiting for the promise of new beginnings that comes with the spring

Here I lay

A rose on a grave

A token of love, pain and grief

Petals withering away as winters kiss begs me to stay in it's cold peaceful sleep

Here I speak

One voice in a crowd

Unheard of and ideas ignored

Thought of as nothing

compared to others I stand beside

Always forgotten even with those who I am allied

Dangerously I come

A quiet fire that burns within

Quick to destroy with the intent to make things new

Quick to be judged be some and feared by others

Further ignited by the words they speak

Idly I sit

A pebble in a rushing stream

Taken along for that expected ride

Reluctant and hiding behind other pebbles when possible

Fearing that moment when I join the ocean

Or fall with the others down the waterfall

Gently I travel

A leaf making it's way off the branch

Excited to explore and see new things

Floating through the air

Going where the wind takes me